Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (28 page)

“What a gracious acceptance,” Lady Dashwood harrumphed.

Nat finished her calls and went to freshen up before lunch. She eyed herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked awful, with dark circles from sleepless nights spent worrying about Ian’s threats, and now the misunderstanding with Alexa…not to mention her doubts about the night she’d spent with Rhys.

The sex had been spectacular, no question. And she loved spending time with Rhys Gordon.

Had their night together meant anything to him? Or was this another dead-end relationship, destined, like her time with Dominic, to end badly?

Natalie didn’t know. She did know, however, that Rhys would most likely leave after the re-launch. His work here was nearly done; he had no reason to stay.

And the thought of never seeing him again was almost more than she could bear.

Chapter 36

“What will you have?” Celia Dashwood asked Natalie as she studied the tearoom’s menu.

She shrugged. “Prawn cocktail, I suppose.”

“Surely you want something more substantial…?”

“No.” Natalie laid the menu aside. “Just the prawns.”

“Darling,” her mother prodded, “is something wrong?”

“Yes, something’s wrong,” Nat snapped. “I’m sick and bloody tired of you asking me if something’s wrong!”

Her mother subsided into frosty silence as the waiter arrived and took their orders, retrieved their menus, and left.

“I’m sorry.” Natalie spoke quietly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m under enormous pressure at the moment.”

“I know you are, darling.” Her mother and laid a comforting hand atop Natalie’s. “Is it too much? Working at the store with Rhys, I mean?”

“No, of course not. I love it. I just have so much to do right now, with the re-launch only a week away.”

“I’ll be glad when it’s over,” Lady Dashwood said, and frowned. “I just hope it’s worth the time and expense. Rhys is convinced that this re-launch will make a huge difference.”

“It will. We’ve got Dominic to perform, and there’ll be a fashion show with Phillip Pryce’s new clothing line, and a DJ, and all sorts of lovely swag—”

Natalie’s voice trailed away. A trolley bearing an enormous cake was wheeled out to their table. Lit sparklers were stuck in the top. “What in the world—?”

Suddenly everyone surrounded their table and began singing ‘Happy Birthday’. Natalie heard her grandfather’s quavery voice, and Gemma’s off-key one; only Rhys wasn’t singing.
Typical
.

Her throat tightened. God, she adored them all. They were her family, the ones who loved her and always had her back. She’d completely forgotten today was her birthday.

“…happy birthday to you,” they finished with a flourish.

Amidst the clapping and cheers, Natalie thrust her chair back and stood. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as everyone waited for her to make a short speech.

“I don’t know what to say,” she managed to choke out. Her throat closed. “Thank you all, so, so much…”

But she couldn’t go on. Overcome with emotion, sick with worry, exhausted from her preparations for the re-launch and night after night of poor sleep, Natalie began to cry. She pushed blindly past them and ran from the room, leaving a sea of bewildered faces behind.

With a muttered curse Rhys went after her.

“I knew something was wrong!” Lady Dashwood exclaimed.

The office hallway was empty; everyone was gathered in the tearoom. Rhys strode towards the conference room at the end of the hallway, where he heard the muted sound of crying.

He pushed the door open. Natalie was slumped at the table, her head in her arms, her face swollen with tears. She lifted her head and saw him; wordlessly she stood and flung herself into his arms.

“Oh, Rhys,” she sobbed, “I’m afraid… I don’t know what to do…should’ve told you at the start—”

“It’s all right, darling,” he murmured, and stroked her hair. A surge of protectiveness overtook him, fierce and strong. “Tell me what’s happened to upset you.” His face hardened. “It’s Ian, isn’t it?”

Natalie nodded. Haltingly, the story of Ian’s blackmail came out. “He wants me to persuade grandfather to make him a partner.”

Rhys let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “A partner? He’s mad.”

“I’m to meet him at the Savoy next Saturday night,” she added, and lifted her tear-stained face to his. “He’s got a room for us, Rhys. And he said it’ll be under the name ‘Mr. Gordon’.”

“I wish you’d told me about this sooner,” he said grimly.

“I know. I’m sorry.” She took a shuddering breath. “But if Ian finds out I’ve talked to you—”

“He won’t, he’s not here. I sent him to the Croydon store, he’ll be there all day.” He held her at arm’s length and studied her face. “The question is – what’ll we do about this?”

“We can’t go to the police,” Natalie said firmly. “I can’t risk it.”

“We have to tell Sir Richard.” Rhys released her and frowned. “This concerns his son. It’s his call as to what we should do next.”

“What would you do,” Natalie asked, “if it were up to you?”

“I’d go to the press,” Rhys said without hesitation. “I’d tell them the whole story, and take away Ian’s power over you.”

“But the scandal—”

“Let’s leave it for the moment,” Rhys said firmly. “Come back, have some cake. Let everyone see you’re OK, then we’ll ask to meet with Sir Richard privately.”

When they returned to the tearoom, everyone came up to Natalie and clustered around her in concern.

“Are you all right, darling?” her mother asked as she enveloped Natalie in a perfume-scented embrace.

“I’m fine.” Natalie hugged her tightly, then stepped away and smiled apologetically at everyone. “Sorry. I had a bit too much on my plate and I had a meltdown…rather like Dominic.” Over the scattered laughter, she added, “I’m fine now, and hungry. So…where’s my cake?”

Rhys handed her a plate. When they sat down, Natalie turned to him. “Why is Ian at the Croydon store?”

“I wanted him out of the way for your birthday celebration. He’s working on their website.” Grimly he pushed his plate aside. “A good thing, too, or I’d have killed him already.”

Natalie eyed him in panic. “He can’t know I’ve told you about this—”

“Don’t worry, he won’t. I can’t stand him on a normal day as it is, and the feeling is mutual.”

Sir Richard appeared next to Natalie. “Happy birthday, dear girl.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

Natalie reached up and clasped his hand tightly. “Thank you, grandfather. Have you had cake?”

“Only a taste; I have to watch my sugar, you know.” He lowered himself into the seat beside her.

Rhys leaned forward. “Sir Richard, Natalie and I need to speak privately with you. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

He nodded. “Come by this evening. I’ll be waiting.”

At half-past seven, Rhys and Natalie arrived at Sir Richard’s townhouse in Belsize Park.

“I hope this isn’t too much of a shock for him,” Natalie worried as Lyons showed them in.

Rhys rested one hand on her shoulder. “Sir Richard is stronger than you think. He might surprise you.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Natalie agreed. She followed the butler to her grandfather’s study.

Lyons knocked discreetly and opened the door. “Sir Richard? Miss Natalie and Mr. Gordon are here.”

“Come in,” he called out from the sofa. He indicated a crystal decanter on the coffee table. “Whiskey?”

Rhys nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have one as well,” Natalie said. “It’s been a trying day.” She sat down and took the glass he handed her. “We have something – well, I have something – to tell you.”

“Ran up another outrageous bill? Smashed up your car?”

“No, nothing like that.” She hesitated. “The truth is, I’m…I’m being blackmailed.”

There. She’d said it. The words fell into the silence like stones to the bottom of a well. The sound of the carriage clock on the mantel filled the room, its measured ticking far outpaced by Natalie’s racing heart.

Sir Richard leaned forward. “Blackmailed! By whom?”

“Ian Clarkson,” Rhys said.

He drew his silvery brows together. “Ian’s on the board, isn’t he?”

Natalie nodded, silent.

Sir Richard’s frown deepened. “What in God’s name have you done, Natalie?”

“Nothing, honestly! It’s what dad did. He embezzled from the store, for two years. He needed the money to support his mistress.”

With a muttered imprecation, Sir Richard set his glass down with a crack on the table. “How the devil did Clarkson find out about that? It was a private family matter. It happened so long ago…I thought we’d buried it all, along with your father.”

Chapter 37

Stunned, Natalie stared at Sir Richard. “You
knew
about the blackmail?”

“Of course I knew.” He scowled. “Where do you think your father got the money to pay off Geoffrey Graham?”

Natalie sagged back against the sofa. “All this time, I worried the shock would prove too much for you, and you’ve known all along.”

“It’s just as well Roger committed suicide,” Sir Richard said, his face set. “Otherwise, I’d have killed him myself.”

“Grandfather!” Natalie exclaimed, and sat bolt upright. “How can you say such a thing?”

He regarded her, his expression hard. “Your father put us through hell, Natalie, your mother in particular. It cost me half a million pounds in payouts before it ended – and that was only because Graham died. That money was meant for improvements to the store. Without it, Dashwood and James began its decline…all because my son couldn’t keep his trousers zipped.”

“Did Lady Dashwood know about the affair?” Rhys asked.

“Oh, I daresay she did, although she never spoke of it. How could she not? There were stories in the papers, photographs of Roger ducking out of restaurants and hotels with another woman. He was shockingly indiscreet.”

“Poor mum.” Natalie frowned. “I thought she never married again because she loved dad so much.”

Sir Richard snorted. “I can’t speak for your mother, of course, but in view of Roger’s affairs, I doubt she wanted to marry again. Nor did she want to bring someone into your lives who mightn’t stay. She wanted you and your sister to have stability.”

“But that’s so unfair on mum!” Natalie objected, crushed. “She spent all these years alone because of me and Caro?”

“Oh, don’t feel too sorry for her,” Sir Richard told her, and sipped his whiskey. “Celia loves her fêtes and church rotas almost as much as she loves her independence, and she adores you girls. I’d say she’s quite happy as things are.”

Rhys leaned forward. “What do you recommend we do, Sir Richard?”

“Go to the press,” the elderly man said without preamble, echoing Rhys’s own words. “Tell them exactly what you’ve told me. Then we’ll have control, not Clarkson.”

“But the scandal,” Natalie said as she clasped her hands tightly together, “coming just at the re-launch—”

“The timing is regrettable,” Sir Richard agreed. He made a dismissive gesture. “But this is old news, after all. It will cause a brief media flurry, but I don’t think it’ll hurt the store to any measurable degree.” His expression was steely. “Even if it does, I don’t care. Your safety is more important.”

“I agree,” Rhys said. He reached out and took Natalie’s hand in his. “That’s why I think we should notify the police.”

“Yes,” Sir Richard said. “Talk to them and see what they recommend. No doubt they’ll want proof. If Clarkson is clever enough to unearth a decades-old scandal and use it to blackmail my granddaughter—” Sir Richard paused, his face set in implacable lines “—then he’s capable of God knows what else. I want Natalie protected.”

“But…suppose Ian finds out?” Natalie asked, and bit her lip.

“He won’t,” Rhys said decisively, and stood. “The CID handle blackmail cases every day. Sir Richard’s right, they’ll need proof in order to arrest him. They’ll likely want you to meet Clarkson on Saturday as planned.”

“This is all so cloak and dagger!” Natalie exclaimed as she stood up, her eyes wide. “I’m really scared.”

“Don’t be.” Rhys took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be in good hands, darling. We’ve got to put Ian behind bars. And right now, you’re the only way we can do it.”

Early Friday evening, the Vauxhall Astra juddered to a stop in front of Hannah’s house on Cavendish Avenue. Jago let the engine run; if he turned it off, he knew it wouldn’t start again.

He glanced at the house. The curtains twitched at one of the upstairs windows. He hoped it was Hannah peering out, not her mum or – God forbid – her father.

“They’ve been in that van for twenty minutes,” Alastair fumed as he glared out the guest room window.

“They’re talking, that’s all.” Cherie came to stand next to him. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t want Hannah seeing him.” He flicked the curtains closed and brushed past her to the stairs. “He was sacked today. He’s got a bloody cheek, coming here.”

Cherie followed him. “Alastair, I hope you didn’t have anything to do with getting that poor boy sacked—?”

He didn’t answer; he was already charging down the stairs and striding out the front door.

“I can’t stay long,” Hannah told Jago as she climbed into the van. “I’m helping mum tag stuff for the church fête.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “I can’t either. Hannah,” he said without preamble, “bad news. I’ve been sacked.”

“What? When?” Shock and dismay clouded her face.

“Today, when my shift ended. Cutbacks,” he added bitterly.

“Oh, Jago – no! What’ll you do?”

“I’ll work at the chippy until I find something else.”

“But how will you pay rent on your flat?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, as to that,” he said, “the flat isn’t actually mine.”

“Oh. So you have a flat mate?” she asked, puzzled.

“Yeah.” Before he could elaborate, Hannah’s father came striding down the front path, and the words he’d been about to say died in his throat.

“I want you to leave,” Alastair told Jago as he rounded the van. “You’re not welcome here.”